


first base

by justlikeswitchblades



Series: ivy and concrete [3]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baseball, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-28 19:16:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11424405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikeswitchblades/pseuds/justlikeswitchblades
Summary: “...Do you want to kiss me?”“I mean--” Midorima can see something in Aomine stall, his eyes widening, as if he hadn't even considered the possibility. “Would that be okay?”





	first base

Midorima is starting to become known as a bit of a something on the Touou team.

Touou is a newer name around the Tokyo high school baseball circuit; not overconfident, but not as historied as the true veterans. Two, maybe three graduating classes have passed through the team over the past few seasons from start to finish on their recent rise to dominance, culminating in claiming the first place title at Koshien last year. 

They're known for being innovative when it comes to their offense. Some say it's due to having a creative coach; others say it's due to a coach that gives his players a little too much freedom. Midorima, having played for just two short months, sees truth in both perspectives.

Midorima's confidence in himself doesn't as much waver as it contorts; encouraged at first in middle school, then nearly squashed in his second year, due to a circumstance that was both separate from baseball, but wouldn't have happened without it. He built it back up in his third year as captain, as a definitive voice, instead of an angry chorus.

There are plenty of big egos here at Touou, but the worst it results in is bickering and some seemingly genuine apologies when needed; no actual fractures, no explosions. Midorima knows his ego is getting up there, but he doesn't want it to be a source of tension again; so he fits himself in where he sees it, filling in the gaps.

Midorima fits in at Touou without causing issue because he fills a hole in their defense. That's why pitching is his favorite position, after all. Ignoring the variations that come with different pitches (he'll leave that to Momoi), it's black and white. Denial, or acceptance; the first line of defense, a universal constant.

Midorima hasn't gotten to pitch at Touou yet; their ace pitcher is, undoubtedly, the strongest among them. For now, he lets his defense shine elsewhere, his left hand in right field, delivering outs with finality.

His offense is more strategic; he has enough power to send the outfielders scrambling, but the ball is typically contained inside the fence. It's not much of an issue for him; he can count on his legs to carry him to first base. He leaves the home runs to Aomine and Wakamatsu, who can send the ball over the fence with fierce reliability.

The first run he scores is almost a non-event; the ball is headed in its usual trajectory, dropping from the high arc that Midorima always hits. It's not the first time he's hit this game; maybe the outfielder is expecting it to stay in. Midorima is, too, until he realizes that he's been standing on base for a few seconds, and no ball has come back to the pitcher. The outfielder is standing there, shrugging helplessly back in the infield. Midorima ducks his head a little, then keeps jogging; Benson on third runs in, to the claps and mild yelling from the dugout. It's early in the game, it's a lead that could still be overtaken--but Midorima still lets himself smile when he crosses home plate, for just a moment. Aomine grins when he sits back down in the dugout, bumping his shoulder.

“Hey. Nice run.”

Midorima wants to voice the thoughts he had a moment ago; he can't deny their logic. But he simply nods and adjusts his cap, a ghost of a smile still on his lips.

The lead ends up being tied at the top of the seventh; Aomine's going on again about how he can only pitch shutouts during night games, a superstition Midorima heard all the way back in middle school, though it might just be another excuse, even if it's true. It's still not his turn to be called up to the mound; neither Wakamatsu or their backup catcher have mastered catching lefty. It's fine, a hurdle they've been hacking away at from the bottom up; that's what Midorima will keep telling himself as one of their third-years takes the mound, eyeing the stuffed bear sitting atop an unused helmet, blowing a bubble with a stick of gum that Aomine offered him.

They end up going through the batting order again, Midorima stepping up to plate in the bottom of the ninth. He thinks about how winning isn't everything, and how he believes this to be true; but he still feels the power building in his shoulders as he prepares his swing. The ball and his bat meet in the middle of the strike zone, and Midorima sends it flying, sailing over the fence this time. He walks down the baseline for a few steps as he watches, and the grin he beams at the dugout across the field is unintentional this time. 

It's still early in the season, but a win is reason enough to celebrate; there's no avoiding the mass of bodies and hugs that await him back in the dugout. Aomine's jostling is familiar in particular, his arm around Midorima’s shoulders, his hand in his hair. They linger together in the dugout for a minute longer while the rest of the team heads back to the locker room, Aomine shuffling the bear between his hands, seemingly unable to stop grinning.

“I'm so proud of you, Mido. I mean, your first time securing a win--!” He takes off his hat, running a hand through his hair. “I'm so happy I could kiss you.”

Midorima blinks. He thinks back to a few weeks ago, Aomine holding his hand outside the convenience store, when the weather still acted more like spring than summer.

“...Do you want to kiss me?”

“I mean--” Midorima can see something in Aomine stall, his eyes widening, as if he hadn't even considered the possibility. “Would that be okay?”

“Yes,” exhales Midorima before he has a second to think about it, his mouth going dry. He can feel his whole face go warm, watching Aomine watch him, how he wets his lips. Aomine tips the brim of Midorima's cap up, puts his hands on his cheeks; the pads of his fingers are calloused, but warm, a light touch on his skin. 

Aomine closes his eyes--right, Midorima has read books with scenes like this, he should do that too--and the world goes dark, save for the sunlight seeping into the dugout.

He waits.

And then there's another pair of lips on his, warm and wet and soft, moving with a little pressure. He tries to mimic those movements, tries not to think about it too much, the little noises Aomine makes, fingers curling around the dugout bench. Aomine keeps kissing him, brushing his lips over the pink sunburn on his cheeks enough that Midorima feels his face get sticky, and back to his lips, using his tongue and his teeth, and, well, Midorima doesn't really know what to do when it comes to that, but it feels nice, so he lets it happen until he finally pulls back, panting for breath. His lips feel sore; he never realized kissing could make someone hurt.

Midorima unbuttons the top two buttons of his jersey, wiping the inside fabric over his cheeks. He listens to the sounds of Aomine's steadying breaths, staring at nothing in particular in the space between them.

“Waka and Sakurai want to get soba,” Aomine finally says, rocking on his heels. “Y’know, it's your win.”

Midorima narrows his eyes a little. “Does that mean I have to treat you?”

“Nah,” Aomine grins. “Just the opposite.”


End file.
